Effie Trinket's Secret
by maddiedoesntknow
Summary: Effie has a secret, and it's one that surprises even her. R&R
1. Chapter 1

_**I always thought that something was there, so I just wanted to get it down on paper. This'll probably be a one chapter thing unless people want me to continue... R&R! **_

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><p>Effie Trinket's Secret<p>

Ah, what a lovely morning it is! The sun is shining, we're on our way to the Capitol, and my hair is the perfect shade of pink! The smell of sweet fruit and freshly baked muffins fill the dining car and I rush over to the uninhabited table to check if they have my favorite kind of the latter, grapefruit and pecans, which they don't. This, of course, is unacceptable. I must have a talk with the chef today and make sure this is not a regular occurrence. Oh, but where do I fit it in the schedule? I guess I'll manage, I always do after all. Glancing down at the newest Capitol Couture watch that is fastened around my wrist, I notice it is almost 8AM. I do hope everyone else joins me soon; we have a busy day ahead of us.

Hopefully the tributes are in a better mood this morning, the girl was so quiet yesterday and all the boy did was cry. This kind of attitude will not do once we reach the Capitol. I simply will not tolerate another pair of ungrateful District 12s making me look foolish in front of President Snow.

Just as I am about to get up and check on them myself, in stumbles Haymitch Abernathy. He's probably suffering from yet another hangover. His dark, curly hair is matted down from the sleep he probably didn't get and he's dressed, or should I say mostly covered, in a bright blue Capitol robe that is laid out in every bedroom. Haymitch is one of the filthiest human beings I have ever met, and his manners are below par. He reeks of alcohol and sweat and I don't see how anyone can neglect hygiene the way he does. He is the exact opposite of me.

"Good morning Haymitch," I say in my most cheery voice.

"Good morning Effie," he manages to mumble in return.

When he says my name something in me stops (my heart?), I feel a wave of heat run through me, and goose bumps rise all over my body.

"Could you pass me a roll?"

His gray eyes are looking directly into mine and something in them makes my cheeks burn up. The eyes of Haymitch Abernathy, so tired and cold, hold something in them. Pain.

"Effie?"

"What? Oh yes, a roll. Here you are."

He reaches for the roll and I take a closer look at his hands, rough and scarred. What left those scars? What filled those eyes with pain? Suddenly I long to know everything there is to know about the victor from District 12.

I remember watching Haymitch as a teenager, twenty-four years ago, as he took the stage with Caesar Flickerman during the Capitol appearance of his victory tour. He seemed so different from the confident, sarcastic dreamboat that held that same position only months before. Something in him had died; he seemed… broken. Then, as every year passed, he seemed to get worse and worse, as did the scores of his tributes. By the time I was assigned to this District, the Haymitch Abernathy who had won not only the second Quarter Quell but the hearts of all the young girls in the Capitol was gone.

Under the five o'clock shadow and baggy eyes, I can still see that young boy, and for some strange reason I feel anxious to reach him. He still has the same chiseled features, the same scruffy eyebrows that only seem to make him more appealing. I want find him, to know his secrets, to feel his arms around me…

"Effie? What are you staring at?"

"Huh?" Oh no. There are those eyes again, but this time the pain is mixed with curiousness and their owner wears a smirk. "Umm…" What do I say? That I'm just staring at you because maybe… possibly… I could be madly in lo-

"Good morning Effie, Haymitch."

"Well, good morning Peeta!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Ok, so I've decided to continue with the story, but my vision for this is just to be little installments that happen throughout the series. Everything I write will stick to the books... except maybe the end. But in order to find that out you just have to keep reading :)**_

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><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

Just look at him, bottle in hand yet again, slumped over a bench outside the City Circle. He does this every year before the games of course, but somehow this time seems different. Maybe it's because he let himself get attached to them this year; of course, whether he'd admit to it or not, he becomes attached every year.

"They arrived at the arena. I've just gotten notified that they are now under Cinna and Portia's care. We should go, it'll be starting soon." He turns around to face me and in the split second before he can become stoic Haymitch, I see the broken boy who appeared on stage at the Victory Tour, with eyes as dismal as a war hero's while recalling battle.

"Oh, of course. Wouldn't want to disappoint the Capitol." He stumbled a bit as he forced himself up, "Effie?"

"Yes Haymitch?"

"Do you care about the tributes? And I don't mean just this year, but every year; every kid that walks up on that stage in front of the Justice Building, whether they're 12 or 18. Do you care?"

This stops me in my tracks. Do I care? Every year for six years now I have done the same thing. I have traveled to District 12, put on my most excited attitude, picked two children at random, and watched as they walked right into their death. And isn't it my fault that they're there in the first place? If I could've just moved my hand over an inch, picked a different name, those children could be home right now with their families, their friends. A different child would be in danger of losing their life, but of course that child would have a family as well, a family that would miss them terribly if they were to die in the Hunger Games. It is a vicious circle and I am the ring leader, I command it and either way someone dies. Even if it is not from District 12, some other parent from some other district is losing their child.

But isn't it an honor to be chosen? An honor to represent your district proudly and be part of history? That is what the Capitol and President Snow tell us. That's what I tell the tributes every year. Nobody ever seems feel that way though, unless they're from District 1, 2 or 4 of course, but I imagine even they are worried about the odds and how likely it is that they are in their favor.

"I try not to care." I immediately focus my attention on the artificial ground, made of light blue and gold pebble stone.

"Me too." His voice is deeper than usual, and darker, but not filled with anger. It sounds more like regret.

Our eyes lock for a moment until Haymitch's drunkenness takes over and causes him to lose balance. Before he can tumble down, I grab his hand to steady him, and we walk into the City Circle together.


End file.
